Jesuitical Ponderings
by Paranoid Crack Abuser
Summary: 'Why' was a question that he knew would make his ears bleed. No denial, no discussion, but that why had a very simple because, and he knew he was asking for it, but it was that why and that because and it was because of that why that he did what he did.


First Sly Cooper fic even though I've loved him ever since I was a kid! About time I started a tribute or something to him!

**Disclaimer: Do not own SuckerPunch**

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><p>Jesuitical Ponderings<p>

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><p>'<em>Why'<em> was a question that he knew would make his ears bleed. No denial, no discussion, but that _why_ had a very simple _because_.

Because of love.

Yes, yes, the dumbest answer in the world, with the all-mighty, undeniable clichéness and the reason stupid people need to live.

But yes, the damnable _why_ was answered with an equally damnable _because_—because of stupid love.

Here, though, it wasn't stupid love. He wasn't quite even sure if it was love. It was something warm and fun and something he wanted forever. It was something he gave everything up for and something he desired most.

Why, why, why—or what happened? How did one go from unbelievable thievery along the coasts of countryside Canada along the train road filled with parts with control over the destruction of the world on the plot to suffocating Paris under a hypnosis spell to… this?

Sitting in a chair, cup lingering under his nose—not to drink but only to smell as his eyes fixated on the ferocious beauty with a terrible temper looming from its slumber to encourage its habitat and nature on a nameless, measly, weasel worker.

"Ahh…" A sluggish, breathy sigh escaped her as she melted in the comfort of the brown leather chair. By god did she love that thing, and didn't he know it. That chair was probably the sole reason she woke up in the mornings, and she curled into it so… cutely, and as if the scenery didn't provide enough entertainment, ever so and a while, he could swear that he heard a sounding purr.

Felines.

It had him heaving a warm chuckle, deep and smooth, something that made her face turn an utterly adorable pink with. Slick eyes watched slyly at her as she arched her back and leaned against the chair.

"You look… happy." He resisted the ever snorting chortle that threatened his silent vows by her often times worrisome bluffs.

"Fresh coffee and a clean morning, what's not to be happy about?" Her eyes twinkled mirthfully at him, glancing at him from the corner of her as she gave him a dazzling smile, looking absolutely beautiful under the stream of sunshine streaking through the curtains, highlighting her form in a gold outline.

It had him choking.

Or losing his breath. Whatever sounded more 'romantic'.

"Paperwork." He grimaced, and she offered him a comforting laugh.

"It's what you get for being a cop!" She exclaimed through her giggles, sounding cheerful and happy.

Constable Cooper lost his smile.

"Did I want to be a cop?" Everything froze. Literally. It seemed like time had stopped and suddenly became an eternal frame. The sun froze, the air froze, and the whole room looked like it was caught in mid-motion. And heavy. Everything felt so heavy to a point where the undeniable factor that emotions held power over the atmosphere came to question.

He was asking for it, he knew he was. But it was the _why_ and the _because_ and it was _because of that why_ that he did that.

It was funny, but it was as if his words crushed the environs, or smashed it into shards.

But he had to… because the why gnawed at him. He wanted her to…

She turned back to look at him, to capture his gaze in her wide, hysterical, worry and panic-ridden eyes. Those big, brown eyes. "C… Constable Cooper…?"

He couldn't stand that look. He wanted it off of her, and he wanted that smile back on.

He was such a hypocrite, but the ache… inside of him… he wanted her to…

He gave her his most comforting and charming smile, "Just a thought. I really thought I was more of a fireman."

That smile was back—a beautiful smile, it was. He decided he wouldn't jump into any more attempts.

Alright, explanation time: what attempts?

It was that why…

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><p>"Why?" When he felt the smaller hand on clutching his elbow, he was washed with a sense of comfort and desperation. He missed that hand.<p>

His eyes glinted mysteriously in the dark as he turned around, eyes falling to the speculative turtle in the wheel chair, and after all that time… after so long of not seeing him, he was hit by a want to run off with the turtle, find the hippo, and play video games together and pull off unbelievable heists and carry on adventures and…

He missed his brothers.

"Why?" It hurt him, that question. It made him think of how he disappeared without a trace, leaving them to always wonder, to always hold that blasted why in their heads, and always wonder of that because. He wondered what possibilities they came up with, what conclusions they resolved to.

And then, in a long time, so opposite to the clear, scratchy voice of the prodigious turtle, his voice cracked, something filled with longing and tears, "Why… Why did you leave us, Sly?"

Sly Cooper wanted to cry.

_Because, because, because…_

The surrounding leaves shifted around them, rustling as if they, too, were demanding an answer. A heavy dusk clung to the air as the shifty wind held still for moments, the trees falling into slumber to keep the area hushed and protected.

"I…" His own voice cracked, and he could only watch as the turtle cogitated every inch of him, trying to pull anything as an answer, as a response.

"I know you know me," He started again, the warm hand on his elbow curling tighter; "you'd never forget us."

To deny… what? To lie to Bentley? To what avail? He'd know, he'd know, he'd always know, because they were brothers and brothers always knew.

The raccoon sighed, something ugly leaking onto his face as he thought… of the… the gnawing, the chewing, the crunching, the strain, pain, pain, pain and his body on fire and what it could have been and all these regrets and pain, pain, pain and the aches with hurt, hurt, hurt and all he could think of…

Bentley caught the thought, or at least the flouting angst along Sly's face. "What changed you? What happened?"

Watching, watching, watching… as something feverish and sickly began to creep over the raccoon, forcing startling trembles as Bentley shot up in alarm as he noticed that Sly's eyes were getting duller and fading away as the male raccoon seemed to struggle under his own weight.

"_Sly_!"

When Sly Cooper woke up, he was instantly hit with the recognition, along with the comfort, of the cool silk sheets under a vibrating comforter found only in India with the wafting scent of his favorite candles—cinnamon and vanilla meshing into one in an utterly soothing and placating sense.

He recognized it all instantly, and for moments he had forgotten the fact that Sly Cooper the master thief had fled into hiding under the name of Constable Cooper, and was in the luxury and consoling whim of the safe house.

"Hey, Sly, I got you some chocolate!" Murray's grin. That was something that he was also hit with that molded form of recognition and comfort. He missed that smile. It defined simple happiness, a joy of blandness, yet was so special for it was the purest, and it made up the definition of that wonderful expression.

"M…Murray…" Sly sat up on the bed, wanting to feel awkward, but unable to find the resolve to be so. This was Murray, and another one of his comforting traits was despite his simple-mindedness, it permeated a non-uneasy comfort zone, rendering one incapable of being discomfited around him. Not with that smile.

With something ill and throbbing echoing violently in the raccoon's head, Sly groaned as he leaned against the bedpost, "No thanks, big guy, I'm good."

A worrisome look leaked into the hippo's face, yet so did a happy one. "You didn't forget me, didja Sly?"

The way Murray's eyes shined so happily in this sheer hope and the corners of his mouth were twitching to turn into an expecting smile, and Sly couldn't find it in his heart to deny his friend.

"'Course not, Murray. There's no forgetting you." The hippo was more than pleased with that answer, and the handicapped turtle had proceeded to enter the room.

"You okay, Sly?"

The raccoon blinked, "I wouldn't be…?"

Murray scratched his leg, staring peculiarly at Sly. "Bentley said you passed out, and he called me to bring you here."

"…Passed… out…?" He tried to remember…

Bentley scotched forward, eyes watching and speculating every loosened sign and rock available.

"We were talking, and something happened. You began sweating and trembling and went unconscious."

"I…" Now he remembered. Of course he remembered. He'd spent many a nights trying to forget, forget, forget—!

That moment, that span of time, stuck under the clutches of that blasted robot. It was the claws, the claws! Digging, digging, digging into his ribs, threatening his freedom and caging and closing in and stopping his air and—how could you not breathe anymore?—and enclosing and black kept creeping and creeping and touched his eyes, all the corners, with green and red and there was so much pain and his stomach kept squeezing and his lungs were closing.

He remembered too much.

He remembered how his legs were just dangling, so helplessly, and the more eternities that passed the more he lost feeling in them to the point where they were just dead weight—but those were his legs!— and he remembered how everything was choking him and he was dying and his head was pounding with red, angry blood and made his vision go white and he remembered so many things and his Pa was smiling at him and…

That was a terrible feeling. Feeling a happy moment, experiencing it by recollection, his mind playing tricks and making him feel it was real, and then—just back. Suddenly realizing that you were dying and that those happy times were gone. After your mind going crazy and in jumbles and connecting to every part of your body in a frenzy, desperately trying to run away from the darkness chasing after you, and then imagining the joyous moments of life—comes the worst. After all that, the worst was there, where everything was sickening and hateful and you find yourself self-hating on the worst case imaginable. Why? Because of the regret.

The damn regret.

Despite the pain, the agony, and the insanity that had overtaken him during the time—he hadn't forgotten a single second of it— it all didn't compare to the tortures of the regret. Of what _you could have done_, but _wouldn't_ be able to, because _you were dying_.

_Why_ did he leave in the end? That _why_ had a very simple _because_—because he wanted to love. Because his greatest regret while being crushed by that _**hell**_ was never going for what he always wanted.

And he couldn't abandon it. Not after seeing Penelope and Bentley together and how happy they were, not after being enclosed and dying and remembering how beautiful she was, not after surviving—getting his life back—and let it go? No chance.

Why did he leave?

Because he would make sure, make absolute sure, that the next time he saw white, he'd never have to think the words _'I wish I could've…_'

And as he looked into the eyes of his two best friends, how worried they were and how much they loved him, he made a decision.

"I'm gonna marry her."

Bentley blinked, "Marry her…?"

And realized, "Carmalita?"

Murray got the idea, eyes wide, "Oh, uh, congratulations buddy! Just make sure she puts away that gun of hers. Bad stuff right there."

"What?"It was Bentley's turn to react, and his squeak was higher than anything.

"You can't marry her! She's a cop! You're Sly Cooper! What if she learns-" As Bentley ranted on and on, and Murray had overtaken a glazed look in his eye, Sly felt the madness and fear of that moment being hushed. He felt it there, under the surface of his ribcage where it scratched against the bone, nicking away, flailing to devour him.

But he wanted to love. He would love. _He would love_. Yes, he'd marry Carmalita, and his two buddies would be his best men and he was going to make his a life a good one with the people he loved.

Sly laughed, carefree and joyous, arms looping around his tall friend and his short one, "So how's about we play some Halo?"

Murray coughed, "Aren't you getting married first?"

"-ll the proclamations! The complications! Of any surety against the idiocy o-!"

Sly smiled, so prettily, or maybe it was because he suddenly seemed shinier than anything he'd ever stolen before. "Let's… go live."

And as if a funny gag on irony, Bentley was the one who retorted with a "what?" and Murray was the one with the understanding smile.

"Yeah, sure, buddy."

Why did he leave his friends? Because he wanted to love. Why did he come back? Because he was afraid. Why did he stay?

Because he wanted to live.

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><p>Tone-down and utterly pointless, with a corny ending and 'WTF is this' urges, but yeah. I did it! Not the first Sly Cooper fic I've written, but the first one I'll publish. For whoever's out there and still reading Sly Cooper fics, please, tell me what you thought of this one. I wanna make more, but I wanna make good ones. If you'd please let me waste those thirty-four seconds of your lives, it's much appreciated!<p>

~Paranoid Crack Abuser


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